The Tug of War
by RochelleRene
Summary: Set in season 7 when there was still potential good... House and Cuddy consider how often they argue at work.


**Just a little one-shot to keep Oc7ober happy. I like it, but I think I like them kinda boring, LOL.**

**[H] [H] [H]**

House entered Cuddy's office looking sheepish. He knew what was coming as soon as he was paged to her office. Cuddy was waiting for him, leaning against the front of her desk.

"You didn't _seriously _put a dog in the MRI machine," she said, shaking her head.

"No," he answered immediately. "How could I seriously do that?" Cuddy raised an eyebrow, half-hoping she'd been misinformed, half-knowing she hadn't. "It was a dog, Cuddy. And an MRI machine. We were actually pretty playful about it."

"House, this is not a veterinary hospital. It's a _hospital_ hospital. We follow these little things called standards for public health."

"Oh it's the _public's _health I'm supposed to focus on. See, I thought it was my patient's," he sniped.

"Not only are you ignoring the fact that animals don't belong in this hospital, you're searching for prions? Spongiform encephalopathy has to be handled with care, House. We need special equipment, special sterilization and disposal procedures. The stuff is indestructible!"

"Oh, relax. I wasn't cutting into old Sparky or anything. I needed a look at the brain for any sign of lesions."

"Why the hell would a patient and a dog both have spongiform encephalopathy?" she snapped. "They aren't related. It isn't airborne."

"Oh. Yeah. That's true. I guess I just got overexcited. You know sometimes I get so worked up about saving someone's life I forget all that crazy stuff we learned in med school."

Cuddy sighed. She knew implying his reasoning was off was a fast way to piss him off. She should have been more careful.

"They don't share a genetic or environmental link that can transfer prions."

"It's not a transfer. They got it from the same source."

"What?"

"The food."

"If it's food, there would be more people sick in the area. Certainly his family."

"Or there would be more dogs sick," he retorted. Cuddy blinked, trying to find the train of thought, but it had left her at the station. "He ate dog food."

Cuddy swallowed. "You know this?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"His shiny coat tipped me off." Cuddy glowered at him. "I thought about it when Chase heard him telling his friend about the sick dog. Then I just scared it out of him. He not only ate it, but he ordered the good stuff. Cases of it from China… Because it's cheaper… Because they don't bother with all that FDA regulation crap. Just grind those disoriented cows up, baby! Feed 'em to the dogs."

"Do I want to know why he ate dog food?"

"You already do. It's the reason all patients do everything that makes them sick."

"Oh, right," she replied. "They're morons." House nodded satisfied.

"We need to confirm and then we need to treat with a brain reservoir. It might buy him a few months."

Cuddy stared at him. "Do you have his permission to kill the dog?" she sighed.

"Kind of a moot point."

Cuddy made a disgusted face. "Where is it, House? Please, please tell me you haven't cut into it. We need the CDC."

"I'm unorthodox, Cuddy. I'm not totally reckless. I'd prefer to stick around a few more years without drooling into a cup."

Cuddy turned to her desk to grab the phone. "I'll call them."

"Already done," he interrupted. "They have the dog and will call within hours. If it's affirmative, they're probably gonna come comb through your hospital for a few days."

"You are the biggest pain in my ass," she said, pressing her hand to her forehead.

"That's what she said," he whispered with a smirk.

She stepped forward, getting close enough to him that she had to tilt her chin upwards to face him. "Take care of your patient's health," she said, patting his arm, "Without further compromising the public's health."

House narrowed his eyes at her. "What about taking care of _you_…" - He grabbed her ass with one hand – "While compromising the public's health. That doesn't seem to be such a problem for you."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes back at him. "I had that whole clinic room cleaned before a patient was taken in," she replied defensively.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House marched into Cuddy's office and tossed two files on her desk before dropping into the chair across from her. Cuddy glanced at him and then started flipping through the thick file on top.

"We need a needle biopsy of her spleen," House said. Cuddy gave him a _no-way-in-hell _look before even skimming the file. "She's fighting off at least two infections, has an extremely low platelet count, and the CT scan shows enlargement of the spleen."

"I assume you biopsied the marrow," Cuddy murmured, still reading.

"Inconclusive," House responded before the question had fully left her mouth.

Cuddy examined the CT scan. "You should just do a splenectomy. With platelets this low, she'll bleed out during the biopsy."

"We could…" House replied tentatively, "But I'd hate to remove her sister's spleen unless we're really, _really_ sure."

Cuddy blinked rapidly a few times and looked at him. House leaned forward and slid the thinner file of the two out from underneath and handed it to Cuddy, who read the name. "Her sister?" She continued reading. "Her twin," she said, conclusively.

"If she has it, there is a high chance her twin has it too," he said, already defensive.

"Not necessarily," Cuddy countered.

"She's anemic and has somewhat low platelets."

"Her spleen?"

House paused. "Normal sized. Healthy enough to survive a biopsy."

Cuddy smiled and shook her head in disbelief. "You want to biopsy the spleen of a healthy person to see if her twin sister has leukemia?"

"If she has any hairy cells, we'd find them in the spleen," House explained.

"In _her _spleen!" Cuddy corrected. "Not necessarily her twin's."

"If her twin has cells, it's even more reason to believe she has hairy cell, and we can treat without removing the spleen."

"Or you might find no cells and the results would still be inconclusive. Plus, the twin could bleed out and the results might _still_ be inconclusive."

"Or we find them and treat," House replied, hopeful.

"Technically, hairy cells in the twin doesn't even mean it's hairy cell in the patient."

"With those symptoms? Pffft. Come on, Cuddy."

"Yeah, 'Pffft. Come on,' plays real well in front of a jury."

"No one's suing. We have everyone's consent but yours."

"No one's suing because no one's dead," she pointed out. "Yet."

"Someone's going to be!" he shouted. "Within 48 hours if you don't grow a pair."

Cuddy sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. "No one has to die, House," she reminded him. "What would you do if she had no twin, same symptoms?"

He glared at her. "Remove the spleen."

"Then remove the spleen. Cut it up and find your cells and know you were right."

"If we start treatment, she might not have to lose the spleen."

"Then start treatment if you're sure."

"I'm not sure, or I wouldn't be asking to slice and dice the twin. Treatment could do nothing and her spleen could rupture."

"Then remove the spleen!" Cuddy cried. House looked disappointed. "It's a spleen! People are walking around without spleens all over the place!" Now House looked positively dejected and Cuddy realized what this was about. "House, she'll _live_. You're just pouting because there's an elegant way to make use of a twin and I'm not letting you do it."

He met her eyes. "You always assume the worst will happen," he accused, pouting more playfully now.

"Yeah, well, that's my job: Assume death is real and try to think about how to avoid it. What's your job again?"

He smirked at her. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just the puzzle guy. I'll go back to my Rubik's cube now." He stood up.

"I don't begrudge you your puzzles, House." She handed his files back to him. "I'm just not going to allow you to rip the stickers off someone else's cube to make yours work."

House sighed and walked to the door. He stopped in the doorway when Cuddy called out, "Biopsy the twin's marrow."

"It's unlikely we'll find cells. She has few symptoms," he replied, not looking back.

"Maybe. But I'll approve that because she won't die from a marrow biopsy. Maybe you'd get to have your snappy diagnostic procedure and your spleen too." He looked back over his shoulder at her. Cuddy had the phone to her ear and was already listening for an answer on the other end.

"You're such a romantic," he told her, winking.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House and Cuddy had just "resolved" yet another battle of wills, facing off with puffed chests in front of her desk. This time House won, building a strong case that a brain biopsy was the only diagnostic option left for a ten-year-old girl.

"Don't look so upset, Cuddy. This will confirm and it's curable," he reminded her. "You're allowing us to be able to fix her." He wanted to offer her a balm for her bruises. He'd been pretty ruthless this round.

"Just get out of here, House," she told him, fatigued. She turned back to walk behind her desk.

"You act like I'm in here for fun, Cuddy," he gently accused. "I'm doing my job."

"And, believe it or not, House, I'm doing mine. Every time we do this, that's what's going on."

"So what's the problem?" he asked.

"It's exhausting!" she declared. "It would just be nice to have you come in here like a human being instead of a bulldozer every once in a while," she told him. She flopped into her chair. "To consider what I think instead of just focusing on your vision," she groused, throwing a hand in the air as if she were tossing ludicrous ideas out there. "Maybe even formulate it as a question. Throw in a please," she added, picking up a pen. She raised her eyes to him. "I know these are pipe dreams."

"We agreed that our personal life shouldn't interfere with our professional life," he reminded her.

Cuddy snorted and continued writing in the file on her desk. "Yes, and we've done that so scrupulously, Mr. Open-wide-and-say-ahh." House grinned at her in spite of himself. "And this has nothing to do with our relationship anyway," Cuddy clarified. "I wished for these things long before we were dating." She snapped the file shut and placed it in a tray, then bent from her chair to flip through still more files in the drawer of her desk. "Occasionally I just get tired of the 'woman-who-gives-House-what-he-wants' role."

"Oh, give me a break," House grumbled. "You were wishing for respectful consultations and 'please' and 'thank yous' before we were in love?"

"Give _me_ a break," she retorted, never looking up. "There was a before?"

He smiled at that, but she ignored him. He watched her face, concentrating on the file she'd just flipped open, doing her job in spite of his presence. She seemed to locate the information she was looking for and met his eyes again as she set the file on her desk. "Can you please go away now?" she asked him.

He smirked at her. "Since you asked so politely," he replied, turning and walking out.

**[H] [H] [H]**

House and Cuddy were lying on the couch, Cuddy nested between his legs and leaning against his chest as he idly channel surfed. He paused on a reality show in which idiot twenty-somethings made out in hot tubs and argued in midnight streets.

"Something else," she complained.

"Come on, Cuddy. You know you like seeing how the other half lives."

"Other half?"

"The ones with no brains, no ambition, no real prospects in life."

"You just like this crap because it helps you feel justified for you misanthropy."

"I just like this crap because occasionally there's a nip slip or someone gets punched in the face."

"It's garbage," she complained again, more apathetically this time as she stretched and yawned.

House saw her stretch out her body, revealing more skin and emphasizing her muscles. One hand had been splayed across her belly, but as the morons on the television began yelling drunkenly about something or other, it began sliding nonchalantly down her pelvis and under the waistband of her yoga pants. Cuddy felt her arousal perk up, much preferring to focus on the feeling of his body around her and against her than the happenings on the television. Her head lolled back toward him and her hips shifted to give him better access as she offered up a luxurious sigh.

House's fingers moved leisurely along her sex, teasing her in a casual, absent-minded way. She looked up at him through half-closed lids and his blue eyes flicked to meet hers for just an instant, before he returned his attention to the television screen, but now with a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

"You see, Cuddy," he murmured, slowly sliding his fingers inside of her, "I think you would enjoy these shows more if you could just loosen up. Relax that overactive brain of yours." He gently pressed that spot inside of her, still with little focus, rather just idly warming her up.

"Mmmm, I see," she replied, her voice growing throaty as her breathing was getting more rapid. "Relaxing the brain… So your mind-numbing narcotic addiction opened your eyes to what is truly art."

He smiled at her barb. "A narcotic every once in a while would do you some good," he teased. He pressed the heel of his hand against her clit while his fingers continued moving in and out of her, so excruciatingly slowly that she found herself bucking up to meet them, trying to turn a slow slide into a purposeful thrust. He was having none of it, letting his arm just ride with her body, having no effect on his hand.

"I don't need drugs to feel good, House," she purred.

"True. But I can't do this during a stressful board meeting."

"I don't need a prescription for this," she countered.

"Maybe not, but you - "

"Why are you trying to talk me into a narcotics habit?" she laughed, interrupting his clever retort.

"You brought it up," he laughed back. "I'm just saying that I'm open to new things. Something Snooki says might change my whole world outlook."

Cuddy looked irritated and rocked her hips to try to scratch that metaphorical itch. "Something _who_ says?"

"Nevermind," he chuckled. "I'm simply pointing out that I'm more open-minded than you." She let a short derisive laugh escape at that notion, until he ran his other hand up her thigh, over her hip and stomach, and under her shirt, gliding his thumb over her nipple.

Cuddy moaned a long, low moan that turned him on no end. "Harder, House."

"And personally, Cuddy," he said, ignoring her, "I think it would be nice if you consulted with me every once in a while instead of being so demanding. Think about what I might suggest," he teased. "Like teetering on the edge of an orgasm for a while." He kept his fingers moving slowly, gently inside her core. "That could be fun."

Cuddy groaned and squirmed under his hand. "Dammit, House," she rasped. "I need this. Just get me off."

House nuzzled her hair and murmured in her ear. "Do you think you could formulate that as a question?" he teased.

Cuddy smiled even through her frustration, his playful ribbing finally connecting with her blood-deprived brain. "Do you agree…" she moaned, and his pressure increased a little, "…that it would be…" she whispered, and his speed picked up, "…a good course of action…" she whimpered, and his fingers rhythmically pulled her toward the edge again, "to make me come right now?" she gasped out.

House's lips closed on her neck and she felt his tongue dance across her skin. She had both her hands on his, trying in vain to control him. "Maybe just throw in a please?" he said against her throat.

Cuddy made a little crying sound. "Please, House. Will you please just make me come?"

He slipped out from under her then with surprising agility, and before she could register what was happening – too disgruntled by the sudden coolness left by the departure of his hand – she was fully reclined on the couch and House was sliding her yoga pants off and urgently pressing his lips to her heat.

"Holy fuck!" she shouted at the ceiling. The heat of his hand was no match for the heat of his mouth, pressing at all the right spots. The attention of his fingers was no match for the precision of his tongue, lapping at her clit until she thought she'd lose it, then dipping inside of her for a moment just to extend the journey still longer. His hands pushed her thighs apart more and all she could feel were the spots where his cells made contact with hers.

And so she stayed there, at the precipice of what she wanted, craving release like oxygen, clawing at his hair like a drowning woman. She released tiny cries that expressed the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain coursing through her body. And then she whispered "Please" once more, a tiny plea for gratification that reached his ears and ignited a complementary irrepressible desire to hear her, see her, feel her ecstasy.

All he did was suck her into his mouth the tiniest bit and Cuddy. Was. Fucked. Her back arched up in an unbelievable way as she searched for ever more contact with his perfect mouth. Her lips opened wide, as if about to gulp for air, but no effort to breathe was made. Her eyes were half open but no vision registered in her brain. Her body didn't care about survival; all it wanted to do was contract and release in wave after wave of orgasm. So she writhed and bucked beneath him and willed herself to stay in this place forever. And he tried his hardest to grant that wish, but sadly, what goes up…

She relaxed against the cushions and twitched with the occasional aftershock as he lay with his stubbled cheek on one thigh, running a hand over the other. She made noises that were not language and saw shapes and colors that were not images. She took in tiny puffs of air, just enough to keep her conscious.

"I will never get tired of the 'man-who-gives-Cuddy-what-she-wants' role," he murmured, running his fingers over her wetness again and causing her to jump with the sensation.

She laughed and played with his hair. "I'm very glad to hear that," she croaked.

"You don't even have to be polite," he added. "Boss me around all you want. I am here to serve. _That's my job_, as you like to say so often"

She chuckled again. "In that case," she replied, "Sit up." His eyes slid up and met hers, which were mischievously twinkling.

"Now, Boss," he teased, sitting up. "Don't get ahead of yourself here. You've just been through quite an event." He smiled widely at her as they met nose to nose when she straddled him. "You might even have brain damage."

Cuddy bit her lip as she unzipped him and pushed up on her knees to allow him to slide his pants off. She peeled off his shirt and looked down at him. He was lost in her eyes, her hair curtaining them off from the world. His hands cupped her face then and brought her in for a kiss. The soft tug of her lips at his was the only thing distracting him from the feeling of her warm sex pressed against his. And when she tasted him – still tinged with the taste of her as a reminder of the bliss of moments ago – all she wanted was to be connected to him in every way physically and cosmically possible. Reading minds, she shifted slightly and he met the swish of her hips and was deep inside of her with one smooth stroke, causing her to break the kiss and throw her head back to release an appreciative moan.

House sucked breath in through his teeth. He felt her all around him, her muscles still clenching erratically from her orgasm. He slid her shirt over her head, craving more of her to touch. As his hands slid up her back, feeling the slender cords of muscle that stretched beneath the smoothness of her skin, he marveled at how her body was a metaphor for her very being – both strong and tender, small and powerful, steadfast and flexible.

Cuddy ran a hand aimlessly over him, as the other braced on his shoulder. She began riding him with a focused speed, inching him closer with every descent down the length of him. Her free hand cupped his face for a moment and her thumb ran over his mouth, dragging his bottom lip to the side a bit. He closed his teeth around it, gently at first, but then pressing down a little harder and released in matched timing to her. She loved the sensation, the short pricks of slight pain that mimicked the urgency of his growing need. Plus, unable to clench his lips shut, little groans of pleasure were escaping his mouth and making her wetter by the second.

She bent her head to press against his and their moans mingled between their mouths, escaping with fitful exhalations that turned up pleadingly at the ends. No one was teasing now, so the pleas were simply to their bodies and the universe to bring this pleasure as soon as was humanly possible. She watched his eyes crinkle up at the corners as he started to clench them shut; she felt his cock filling her in every dimension possible; she felt his tongue circle the tip of her thumb the way it had circled her clit… and she was screaming again, mixing his name up with God's and crying as if the bliss might just do her in this time. He tried to push off the self-centeredness of orgasm to just bask in hers again for as long as he could, but the feeling of being tightly sheathed inside of her and the sound of his name on her lips made the effort futile within seconds and he was holding her hips and pushing them down hard onto his lap as he came with one long groan followed by near-hyperventilation.

And he knew his joking comparison was full of shit. The feeling of releasing inside of her, bringing her pleasure with his own, was so much better than any high he had ever experienced. It wasn't a solitude, but a union. It wasn't a numbing, but a tactile drenching. It wasn't an escape, but a coming home.

And the pill bottles never collapsed against him and stuck to his sweaty skin and tickled the back of his neck. They sat there, orange and threatening, not warm and enveloping. "Don't take narcotics," he told her, "Just fuck me with an obsessive regularity." He felt the joyful vibration of her laugh against his chest.

"You're possibly as good as Vicodin, House," she granted him, reaching for the clicker and turning off the television "but Jersey Shore is that bad."

**[H] [H] [H]**

Four days later, Cuddy looked up when someone rapped gently on her office door. House stuck his head in and asked, "Do you have a moment?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Yeah…"

He handed her a file. "Hepatic epitheliod hemangioendothelioma."

"Oh, God," Cuddy said, opening the file. "Good catch," she said, happy to have a doctor who could spot such a rare tumor.

"Thank you," House replied. She looked up him briefly again, on guard. "I'm thinking we should do a resection instead of waiting for a transplant," he told her. "Do you agree?"

Cuddy held up a scan to look at the size and location of the tumor on the liver. "Yes. Of course. It's all in the right lobe. It's consolidated. Yes."

"I wanted your opinion on the gall bladder. Do you think we should take it out too, to avoid a metastasis?"

Cuddy considered. "No sign of gall bladder dysfunction?"

House swallowed. "No."

Cuddy nodded, thinking. "Still. It's prudent. The cancer is too risky. Yes, I'd say take it out."

House gave a satisfied nod of the head. "Great. I needed your approval for that since there's no pathology to document on the gall bladder."

They stared at each other.

"Well, I approve," she said, waiting for the rug to be yanked out from under her.

"Great," he said again. He held his hand out for the file and she gave it to him and watched him turn to head out the door.

At the door she cleared her throat a little. "House?"

He stopped and turned back to look at her. "You're sweet," she told him. He offered a lopsided grin in response. "But I take it back."

"You take it back?"

"Don't be so… polite. I know you're just doing it because I complained about our arguments, but… I think I actually get off on them."

House laughed and slumped against the door. He mimed wiping sweat from his brow. "Whew. Thank God because that was torture."

Cuddy laughed back. "Though the world isn't ready for another House," she quipped, "I don't think we need another Wilson."

He grinned at her. "Damn. That statement kinda puts a wrench in our whole best-friend-cloning endeavor…"

Cuddy smirked at him before turning back to her computer. "Yeah, well, you need me to sign off on something like that anyway."


End file.
